


Something I’m Not Seeing

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Pining Derek, Scent Marking, Teenage Derek, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a world of a difference between Derek’s past and present self. To the point that Stiles pretty much considers them to be two different people who just happen to have the same name. </p><p>--</p><p>Entirely on accident, the pack brings teenage!Derek forward in time, to the present. While struggling to find a way to send him back, the boy notices some lingering looks and tension between his future self, and a certain human. Without the burden of the things adult!Derek has seen and done in his life, teenage!Derek is a lot more straightforward about the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something I’m Not Seeing

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this photoset](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com/post/83849805342/sterek-au-entirely-on-accident-the-pack-brings)

There’s a world of a difference between Derek’s past and present self. To the point that Stiles pretty much considers them to be two different people who just happen to have the same name.   
  


Besides the physical resemblance, the pair of Derek’s are about as alike as a tomato and a strawberry. Both fruits, both red but they’re  _really_ fucking different. Older Derek is quiet, jaded, quicker to frown and sarcasm than anything else.  
  


Younger Derek is just… he’s a teenager through and through. He’s cocky, confident, easy to smile and holy mother of  _pearl_ _, he_ wears  _plaid!_ Stiles brain just cannot compute that no matter how many times he’s seen it.  
  


And while on the subject of things that are causing his brain to malfunction, Derek’s younger self has taken to plastering himself to Stiles’ side. It’s more than a little strange. Especially since it’s gone from invading his personal bubble to accidental touches that don’t really feel accidental anymore.  
  


Younger Derek leans in over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder and close enough that Stiles can catch the faint scent of deodrant. The backs of their hands brush as they walk down the school corridor. There was the hair ruffle once that… actually, Stiles isn’t going to think about that one because it makes his brain go down roads it really shouldn’t.  
  


That, in hindsight, is possibly a loosing battle because younger Derek is walking around wearing one of Stiles’ plaid shirts and he looks… so smug about it that Stiles wants to repeatedly bang his own head into a locker because  _what_  is younger Derek playing at?!  
  


Anyone else, any other time and Stiles would assume that  _clearly_ the other person is interested in him. He can’t even get anyone else’s opinion on the matter because Scott gets a little embarrassed and mostly tight lipped on the whole matter. Isaac’s no better and Cora just rolls her eyes and refuses to say anything.   
  


"Someone better tell me what the hell’s going on already or else…" Stiles grumbles to no one in particular as he viscously slams his locker shut. He turns around and immediately locks eyes with younger Derek who is walking up to him with a smile on his lips. ‘ _Just act casual_.’ Stiles tells himself, wondering what’s on the touchy-feely agenda today. ‘ _Please be the hair ruffle thing please be the hair ruf-no nope nope_.’  
  


Casually nodding at the younger man, Stiles tries not to die a little on the inside with delight that he’s got a few inches on younger Derek. Ah how life is sweet. Sweeter still when Derek nudges up against his side. Oh God someone send help before Stiles does something extraordinarily stupid.  
  


"What’s up?" Stiles asks, meandering through the crowd with younger Derek by his side. It’s feels easy and good, regular teenage life, walking down the halls with this younger version of Derek by his side.  
  


Derek presses against Stiles side, pushing them both out of the way of the tiny group that’s coming their way. “Nothing much.” Derek replies, fingers brushing against Stiles’ forearm as he straightens. “Thought you’d like to know that we figured out a solution to the name problem.”  
  


Oh thank God. That’d be one less headache for Stiles to deal with. “Lay it on me.” Stiles replies immediately, glancing over at Derek.   
  


There’s a wicked twinkle in the younger man’s eyes when he says, “Just call him Jerome.”  
  


The world as Stiles knows it comes to a screeching halt, skid marks and all. “ _Jerome_?” He asks, laughter already trickling out in his voice. “Why  _Jerome_?”  
  


"It’s m-our middle name." Derek’s comment makes Stiles laugh so hard that he has to stop in the middle of the hallway and lean on his knees to stop himself from falling down.   
  


"I’m guessing," Stiles wheezes out when Derek pulls him up, "that he hates it?" Derek’s little grimace is answer enough, as is the amused uptwist of his lips. Leaning against the shorter teenager, Stiles continues to snicker as they walk out into the parking lot. "Oh  _God,_ that is  _beautiful_.” There’s justice in the universe after all, praise God and all that.  
  


Oh and speak of the devil. Stiles raises his hand in a cheeky wave before he yells, “Hey Jerome! Sup!” A few people look at Stiles but generally everyone carries on as per norm so Stiles really doesn’t understand why he’s on the receiving end of a particularly angry glare. Yeesh, older Derek must really hate his middle name. He says it aloud even.  
  


Derek ducks his head and laughs, a warm chuckle that makes Stiles grin as well. “You gonna catch a ride with him?” Stiles asks, checking his pockets for his keys. The other teenager nods but follows Stiles to his Jeep. Glancing over at Derek, Stiles asks, “There anything else you wanna talk about?”  
  


Older Derek is glaring even harder now at… huh, at his younger self. Weird. Stiles pulls his keys out, half his attention on Derek. “I was wondering if you want to go out with me on Friday.”   
  


The one beat it takes for Stiles to process the question, his keys slip out of his suddenly numb fingers. Stiles can’t be bothered about them at the moment because Derek’s looking at him,  _through_ him and Stiles is having a hard time remembering that he needs to  _breathe fuck shit breathe God dammit_.  
  


"Go out?" He asks dumbly, wanting to make sure that his imagination didn’t just provide him with a highly realistic hallucination or anything.  
  


Derek bends down, scoops the keys up and presses them into Stiles’ limp hand. “For a movie.” He says, fingers curling over Stiles’ hand and staying there. There’s a kind-happy look in his eyes when he continues. “I can tell that you’re… you know. Interested.”  
  


Oh, that’s… really embarrassing actually. Stupid werewolves. “I don’t mind!” Derek immediately tacks on hastily. “I like it. I like that you like me.” If there’s one thing that Stiles could have done without during this whole… ordeal, would be this realization that younger Derek is pretty straightforward and earnest in his approach towards everything and anything.  
  


Derek’s hand squeezes his fist, bringing his attention back to the moment at hand. He needs to say no. He  _has_ to say no because there’s no way that he or Derek can come out of this unscathed. The repercussions of this are going to be catastrophic!  
  


"Friday?" Stiles croaks out with a weak smile.  
  


Derek grins up at him, bright and happy, hand squeezing Stiles’ again. “Pick me up by 5?” He says, waiting for Stiles to nod dumbly before he ambles over to… oh shit. Stiles holds onto his backpack strap for dear life when he sees the stormy look on older Derek’s face. While younger Derek looks like the cat that’s managed to steal the cream  _and_ the canary, his Derek looks…betrayed?  
  


As he stands and watches the Camaro peel out, Stiles mutters, “What the hell just happened?”


	2. And I Don’t Know Where to Look

Ten minutes into the date, the mantra of ‘What the hell’s going on?’ that has been bouncing around in his head for several days  _finally_ shuts up. Mostly in shock because Derek had grinned at him, taken his hand and led them into the theatre with a quick warning not to spill the popcorn bucket. Understandably, Stiles' brain had been stunned silent.  
  


His brain had quickly shifted gears however, going from confused to nervous-panicking so fast that Stiles felt dizzy. ‘What do I do? What do I do?’ a voice keeps yelling inside his head for the rest of the movie. Internally, Stiles is running around in circles while screaming for some kind of divine intervention and or help from any source. He'll settle for anything! A divine revelation! A character from the movie delivering a line which will spark an epiphany! The usher offering mysterious yet relevant advice but the universe gives him nothing.  
  


Stiles is sorry to admit that he can’t remember a damned thing about the flick. He'd been too busy freaking out over Derek’s arm resting behind his seat, their fingers brushing against each other when they reached for the popcorn and the way Derek would keep leaning in to whisper his comments into Stiles’ ear. Which! Was  _totally_ foul play because his ears are sensitive to teasing of that manner!  
  


The only things that Stiles remembers, as they stumble out of the theatre are: Derek likes making sarcastic comments about fight scenes, he’s pretty tactile and likes to cuddle, loves Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,  _knew_ that Stiles was distracted by the whispering and fingers tracing circles on his arm aaaand there had been some explosions in the movie? Also something about a necklace and a bank and some kind of grudge? Possibly a ghost was involved as well?  
  


His brain and body are still reeling from the Derek-overdose when he parks the Jeep outside Derek’s loft building. Jerome’s loft… Stiles wants to hit his head against the steering wheel and groan all his frustration out. But that wouldn’t be good date etiquette would it? (He can't _believe_ he forgot all about older!Derek during his date!)  _'I'll wait till he's inside.'_  Stiles decides, chewing on a corner of his lips as he peeks over at Derek.  
  


Teenage!Derek is looking right at him, a soft smile on his lips. His eyes shine under the lights of a passing car, flashing blue at Stiles. “I had fun.” He says. “Did you?”  
  


Far from, Stiles wants to yell. His heart has been in his throat the whole evening, setting an erratic pace that's been coupled with a painful squeeze every time Derek’s whisper would tickle his ear. He'd barely eaten anything, his nerves are shot and Stiles is certain he's pissed older!Derek off for _life_. And of course there'd been the way their fingers would brush together accidentally when they both reached for the popcorn at the same time.   
  


"Yeah." He smiles back at Derek, letting go of his death grip on the steering wheel. "It was nice. We should do it again some time."  
  


As soon as they’ve managed to deal with the Derek situation, they were going to deal with this strange disconnect present between Stiles’ idiot mouth and brain. The urge to bang his head into the steering wheel returns with a vengeance.  _What is he saying?!_

 

“I think they’re showing the sequel next week.” Derek offers, hand tip toeing over to rest on Stiles’ on top of the gear shift.  
  


Stiles glances down at the hand, half wishes that it was bigger than it is, looks back up and grins. “Sounds like a date.”

 

And that’s it! He’s sending his brain back and requisitioning a new one cause  _clearly_ , his present brain is defective in all kinds of ways! The whole point of this date was to make sure that it stayed a one-time thing that didn’t lead into anything more! So what the hell was his mouth playing at by saying that they’d have another date? Speaking of mouths though, is Derek staring at his? The devil on Stiles’ shoulder tells him to lick his lips and check, maybe even bite down a little bit. It cackles in delight when Derek’s eyes go half-mast and dark.

 

A sharp thrill runs down his spine when Derek slowly looks up, determination clear in his pale eyes. He’s going to be kissed. Stiles knows this down to his soul. He knows this before Derek begins to lean in, eyes shifting questioning between Stiles’ eyes and mouth. He also knows that he needs to move away, press back into the door and firmly tell Derek that they can’t.  
  


Stiles doesn’t understand when he’s leaned in as well, meeting Derek half way in a chaste kiss. It makes all objections and thoughts crack, crumble to dust and fly away in the hot flush that zips through Stiles’ body. He sucks in a greedy breath, free hand cupping Derek’s smooth face before pressing in harder.  
  


Derek makes a quiet noise that makes Stiles shiver and open his mouth in a brazen invitation. He catches a thin lip with his teeth, tugs gently before soothing the hurt away with his tongue. Derek’s hand slides into his hair, gentle but firm as he yanks Stiles closer. Happy to oblige, Stiles sits on the edge of his seat and grabs Derek back.  
  


He forgets everything except the soft lips kissing him over and over again, the strong hands touching his hair, neck, face, chest but never lower, the quiet, breathy noises that Derek makes against his tongue. Stiles’ hands tighten against the baby soft hair on the nape of Derek’s neck before sliding them into his thick hair. When his nails scratch against the other teenagers scalp, it makes Derek shudder so hard that he pulls away to gasp.  
  


There’s a cool rush blowing past his cheek before it’s quickly replaced with a slow,  _warm_ sigh. “That’s cheating.” Derek murmurs. The words trace the shape of Stiles’ lips before sliding in over his tongue and teeth. Derek’s fingers retaliate by scratching Stiles’ scalp. It makes Stiles jerk and gasp in return.   
  


"Ass." Stiles grumbles, laughing along with Derek.  
  


He feels nothing but warm, happy, safe when Derek gently knocks their foreheads together and steals one more kiss. “I’d better go.” Derek begins, voice tinted with the faintest hint of regret. “He’s waiting for me to come inside.”  
  


Peeking curiously at Derek, Stiles asks, “You can feel him?”   
  


Derek snorts, leaning back as he shakes his head and points at the entranceway of the building. There’s a familiar looking figure standing there, half hidden in the shadows. Derek looks as welcoming and happy as a Gotham gargoyle perched on top of a church as he stares at the Jeep.   
  


It makes Stiles feel a tiny bit ashamed and guilty. He wants to duck his head down and drive away as fast as possible. Maybe then he can fool himself into believe that Derek doesn’t look hurt and betrayed. Maybe if he drives faster enough, he can leave his worries behind on the pavement.  
  


"You shouldn’t worry too much about him." Derek suddenly says, startling Stiles out of his thoughts. He stares in confusion at the teenager and then back at older!Derek who is making his way over to them at a scarily fast pace. Stiles is tempted to say that Derek is power walking over to his Jeep with an incredibly murderous look on his face. He has  _plenty_ of reasons to worry about Derek right now. And his head, which he suspects Derek might chew off as soon as Stiles is within his reach.  
  


Eyes darting to and fro in worry, Stiles wonders if he’s going to witness a blood bath (and seriously, Derek can’t kill his younger self! That would be disastrous in so many ways that Stiles can’t even  _begin_ to count!) Derek squeezes his hand, capturing his attention yet again. “ _Don’t_ worry about him, okay?” He repeats earnestly, "Everything's going to be fine.".  
  


Next thing he knows, Derek is throwing the door open and yanking his younger self. Stiles can’t even  _blink_ as he watches the two Derek’s move into the building, younger Derek shaking himself free from older Derek’s grasp with some comment that makes the man start and stare. He dearly wishes for enhanced werewolf hearing at this point. What did Derek say to make his older self stop in his tracks so completely?  
  


And what exactly did he mean, ‘Don’t worry about him’? Clearly he meant older Derek but… not worry about him in  _what_ way? It’s only after both Derek’s have disappeared inside that Stiles rubs a rough hand over his face, sighing into the skin before he whispers, “What the hell am I doing…”


	3. All I Wanna Do Now Is Look At You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Here's the last part~

Three dates and uncountable kisses later, Stiles still has no effin clue what he’s doing. His brain’s given up on him actually. Flat out declared him a hopeless case before announcing that Stiles is on his own. _‘Don’t blame me when we send younger Derek back and have to deal with grumpy, older, Derek and it’s awkward as heck okay?’_ , a voice in his head had complained loudly.  
  


Stiles honestly didn’t give the thought much attention. By which he means he's been avoid it. _H_ _ard_. Any time he’d start to wonder, ‘what are we going to do once we send young Derek back to his right time?’, Stiles would do a mental u-turn and sprint in the opposite direction yelling “NOPE!” as loudly as he could. It's a mildly confusing euphemism sure but it's a confusing situation!   
  


The kick of it is, as long as young Derek is around him, distracting him with sweet kisses and shy grins, Stiles finds it easy to forget his problems. It’s easy to live in the moment when this younger version of Derek sits with him, talking easily about movies, music, comics, sports etc. Stiles falls a tiny bit in love with this version of Derek and feels his heart break when he wonders where this boy went after the fire.  
  


 _'Probably died the same day.'_  He thinks, spooning a good deal of clumpy, yellow powder up before dumping it into the glass by his side. Deaton is talking quietly to both Derek’s, no gestures, no nothing. His expression is sombre, voice pitched low. Stiles tries his best to guess what they’re talking but between the both Derek’s poker faces and Deaton’s non-body language, it's a lost cause.   
  


Stiles gestures with his spoon for Scott to come over to his table. His best friend quickly pushes the mortar and pestle over so that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder. “What are they talking about?” Stiles whispers, using his eyes to gesture at the trio behind them.  
  


Scott resumes grinding the herbs and leaves with a steady hand, using the noise to hide their conversation. “He’s just warning them of the side effects of this potion. Headache, nausea, oh ew.”  
  


"Ew?" Stiles asked in alarm, eyebrows shooting up. His hand was paused half way through reaching for the next bottle. Owl’s something something. He's too grossed out at the idea of some spell needing animal parts, so he's been trying to _not_  read the bottle labels. Deaton had arranged several bottles in a row, instructing Stiles to mix them together before walking over to talk with the Derek's. Stiles had been kind of curious about the ingredients until he'd read the label on the first bottle (stag beetle powder). After that, he's been avoiding the labels and quietly adding the items together, pretending they're herbs and spices instead of miscellaneous animal bits.   
  


The tanned boy’s face is twisted in disgust, body shuddering“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”  
  


"C’mon," Stiles wheedles, "Gimme a hint."  
  


"Splinching."  
  


The bottle slips out of his hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk and rattle. Stiles frantically grabs at it, not wanting the dried whatever it it’s filled with to spill all over the table and or floor. Sighing in relief, Stiles turns and waves a hand at the trio with a cheerful grin. “All good! Sweaty fingers plus glass jars is a bad combo.”  
  


Deaton looks at him like he always does. Calm, cool, mildly annoyed. Older Derek’s eyebrows judge him hard for his clumsiness. Young Derek hides his smile behind a hand but the corners of his mouth are still visible. 

 

 _What a nice smile.'_  Stiles thinks dopily, lips turning up as well.  _'Too bad Derek doesn't smile like that now. He'd look great if he smiled…'_  
  


"Dude." Scott elbows him, pulling him out of his pleasant thoughts. "Is it supposed to smoke like that?"  
  


Smoke? Stiles looks down at the glass. Sure enough, a thin plume of smoke is rising from the dark green mixture. Letting out a surprise noise, Stiles quickly uncaps the jar, pulls out exactly five unidentified (and squishy) owl parts and throws them into the smoking mixture. The pair hold their breath as the smoke thickens before gradually disappearing. By the time the smoke has evaporated, the mixture has turned a deep red color.

 

“Magic is  _weird_.” Scott declares.  
  


Stiles simply gives a the Derek’s a long look while muttering, “Tell me about it.”  
  


The sound of pestle and mortar grinding together stops. Scott glances between Stiles and where he's looking before quietly asking, “Did you guys manage to talk about your thing? I mean. It’s got to be confusing right?”  
  


Stiles' answering exhale is a short, explosive snort. “ _Majorly_. I mean," Stiles slaps the jar shut as he speaks, "I always had this image 'bout what Derek was like as a teenager, you know? And then we get to meet him when he was 15, before life happened and it’s…” Stiles pensively turns the owl jar round and round in his hands, frowning as he mutters, “It’s like I never knew the guy. And the guy he really is is kind of…”  
  


"Nerdy? Cocky?" Scott offers, checking the mortar contents before beginning to carefully transfer them into a measuring bowl. "Un-Derek-like?"  
  


Making a ‘I know right’ hand gesture, Stiles waits for his friend to finish his job, muttering, “It’s like Luke finding out Darth Vader is his father. That’s how out of left field this is.”  
  


He waits for Scott to make a noise that says, 'I get it.' But what he gets is a confused silence before Scott looks up with a frown, “Is that bad?”  
  


"Oh my  _God_!” Stiles slaps his forehead in exasperation. “We’ve  _got_  to make you watch Star Wars already!”  
  


"He hasn’t seen Star Wars?" Young Derek asks from behind them, smiling as the pair jump. "You should have heard me coming." He chuckles at Scott, holding both hands up in peace as he gets matching glares.  
  


Scott waves a hand at Stiles, the table and everything on it. “Was kinda distracted trying to make this magic time travelling potion for you, dude!”  
  


Young Derek’s happy smile softens when he turns to Stiles. “Almost done?”   
  


Throat dry, brain and heart scrambling to process that the time he didn’t (and hasn’t) been thinking about for almost three whole weeks is almost upon them, Stiles nods. “Yeah. Just need to add the stuff Scott made, add some of your and Derek’s blood and it’s good.”  
  


Pale eyes linger on the red liquid before they come back up to Stiles’ face. “Can we talk? Before…”  
  


Stiles clears his throat, all too aware of where they are, who they’re with and how they won’t really have any privacy unless they were to walk a good distance away from the building. “Sure.” He croaks, pointing towards the front of the clinic. “The cats room?”   
  


He catches older Derek’s body twitch out of the corner of his eye and wonders if he’ll be listening to them. Scott smiles encouragingly at him but his eyes are sad. His already twitchy nerves grow more unsettled, and more once they’re alone in the room where Deaton keeps the cats.  
  


"So." Stiles begins, figuring he might as well take the proverbial bull by the horns and get this over with. "Today’s the day."  
  


Derek steps up to him, hesitant and unsure of his welcome but smiling none the less. “Yeah. If everything works out right then I’ll be back home with no memory of my future.”  
  


Oh. The fact crawls into his brain, turns into lead balls that tumble down his body, causing damage along the way. They ping against his every organ, spreading hurt until they settle in his feet, making him feel heavy and uselessl. It hurts too much to ask what that means. Whether Derek will remember Stiles.  Or that he'll remember them and the little, happy time they’ve spent together.  
  


Knowing their luck, it’ll only be Stiles who’ll remember their first date and how his heart was in his throat the whole time. Derek won’t remember the way Stiles had leaned forward to kiss the drop of chocolate ice cream off the werewolf’s lips after their second date. And he definetely won't remember how they'd chased each other around the ice rink before Stiles had tackled Derek down, laughing until Derek had kissed him to shut him up.

 

How is it fair for only Stiles to remember all the times Derek pulled him away from research, halting all arguments with a swift kiss and firm, “You need to eat and rest.” Stiles wants Derek to remember when he'd linked their fingers together during the walk between the movie theater and the restaurant. It's not fair!  
  


His throat clicks several times as he tries to swallow but his throat feels too swollen, too dry. Clearing his throat, the only word he manages to breathe out is “Oh.”  
  


Stiles’ head lowers, feeling too heavy on his shoulders. He sees Derek’s hand reach out to take his, measures the distance between their bodies with his eyes and tries not to yell at the unfairness of it all. It wouldn’t be wrong of him right? Stiles is the injured party after all. Derek won’t even remember…  
  


"I wish there was another way." Derek says, pained and rough. The way his voice cracks makes Stiles feel guilty. Derek might not remember later but right now? He’s hurting as much as Stiles is. "I want…"   
  


He looks up, desperate to know what Derek wants. But Derek’s squeezing his eyes shut as he holds his words in. “It doesn’t have to end… badly.” He finally whispers, opening his eyes to look at Stiles.  
  


With a choked laugh, Stiles reaches out to cup Derek’s jaw. “You’re going back to your time, you won’t remember me and I’ll be back to dealing with your grumpy older version who can’t stand me.”  
  


Derek’s grip tightens suddenly, a new fire in his eyes when he says, insistently. “It’s not like that. He likes you. As much as I do.”  
  


"No he doesn’t."  
  


Stiles is ready to offer a slew of examples but Derek cuts him off. “Trust me, he does. Who knows him better than me?” Chuckling weakly at the joke, Stiles breaks eye contact. Derek’s hand slides up his arm, pushing the short sleeve of his plaid shirt up a few inches. “He does care for you. He’s just… scared.”  
  


Heart thudding in his ears, Stiles feels a tiny bit scared when he asks, “Of what? Me?”  
  


Smooth fingers brush against his earlobe, tug on it gently before coming to rest behind Stiles’ neck. “Of what you represent I guess. He’s been hurt so much, by so many people, I guess the thought of letting someone else is… scary.”  
  


Derek’s fingers slide through the short hairs on Stiles’ nape, causing a delightful tingling sensation to run through the human’s body. Stiles shivers despite the warmth that floods his body, and closes his eyes, knees knocking together as he tries to stay on his feet.  
  


"Promise me something?" Derek whispers against his lips, pressing their foreheads together. Stiles doesn’t even have to think before he’s nodding his head in agreement. "Promise me you’ll try with him."  
  


Eyes snapping open, Stiles stares in surprise at the young werewolf. Derek looks so incredibly pained and earnest as he repeats, “He wants you as much as I do but he doesn’t think you’ll ever go for him. For a lot of reasons that aren’t mine to tell. In the end, he’s still me. So please. Promise me?”  
  


Can he make a promise he’s not sure he can even keep? Stiles falters, mouth flapping in distress. He’s not sure what to say. There’s so many things he wants to ask, wants to argue against. Because honestly? In what world would a guy like Derek be interested in  _him_? Not to be self depreciating but just…  _Derek_.   
  


Stiles wants to know  _how_  this younger Derek can say with such confidence that older Derek is into him. What  _evidence_  is there to support this claim? His and Derek’s relationship has always been antagonistic more than anything else - him pushing Derek’s buttons, being pushed back in return. With occasional bouts of friendliness to push them into a quasi-positive relationship.  
  


Okay so he’s had this almost-crush on Derek for a while now because, hello, he’s got eyes and he knows where he lies on the Kinsey Scale. But at no  _point_  has Stiles  _ever_  gotten even the tiniest indication that Derek harbors any feelings for him that don’t involve wanting to slap him on the head for being an idiot.  
  


Stiles is ready to point all of this out when a blurry figure comes to stand outside the door. Judging from the red color of their shirt, Stiles assumes that it’s Scott. Sure enough, his best friend declares, “It’s time.”   
  


He opens his mouth - to protest, to agree, who even knows - but Derek quickly covers it with his own in a hard kiss. Stiles winds up whimpering, grabbing the teenager back as they hold on for as long as they can. It feels like forever and a second later when they break away, panting harshly against each other’s cheeks. “Can you…” Derek begins, voice cracking. “I’m going to miss you, Stiles.”  
  


Swallowing noisily, Stiles’ fingers clench in Derek’s plaid shirt.  _His_  plaid shirt. “Gonna miss you more.” He admits hoarsely.   
  


That’s all there really is to say because Stiles doesn’t do good byes well, planned or unplanned. He nods, body heavy as Derek pulls away. There’s a childish urge to cry out, cling to Derek and plead with him to stay. But Stiles it down as hard as he can. It would be unfair, not to mention impossible, to keep this Derek here any longer. They’ve been pushing their luck by keeping him in the future for five weeks as it is.  
  


"Don’t forget your promise, okay?" Derek reminds him from the doorway, turning back to look at Stiles.   
  


Scott looks at Stiles curiously, gaze moving back and forth between the couple. Stiles ignores him and nods, not feeling up to words for once.   
  


—  
  


After successfully sending young Derek back to his time, it takes Stiles another week to screw up enough courage to make his way to Derek’s loft. Stiles spends that time thinking about Derek, old and young, about his promise and how he can carry it out. Mostly he curls up in his computer chair and mopes while browsing the Internet.   
  


Everyone else gives him his space, an oddity considering his friends but Stiles isn’t going to look this gift horseshoe in the mouth. He accepts their kindness gratefully, ignoring the way his heart leaps whenever Scott or anyone else would mention Derek around him.   
  


"You can do this." Stiles tells himself, staring at the heavy metal door like it’s Shelob herself. "You’ve got this." Awesome pep talk, Stiles snarks to himself.  
  


He raises his hand, managing two loud knocks before Derek is sliding the door open. Stiles is left with his hand up in the air, inches away from knocking on Derek’s pecs. “Uuuuuh….” He trails off dumbly. “Hi. That was fast.”   
  


Derek’s gaze is unwavering and frankly, disconcerting. Stiles feels like he’s under a microscope being examined by Professor Hale wearing a white coat a-yeeeeah he’s going to stop that fantasy before it goes into XXX territory. It’s not that hard really.   
  


He shakes his head, swaying slightly in place. “How are you?” Stiles asks, wondering if its possible for silence to feel tangible. Because it feels like it right now. The silence from Derek’s side feels like a sticky, oily liquid sticking to his skin, causing an itchy feeling to spread. Stiles scratches the back of his hand, hoping his smile is open and friendly instead of stiff and crooked.   
  


"Fine." Derek finally deigns to reply, taking a step back. He doesn’t exactly gesture for Stiles to come in but the empty space he leaves implies the invitation right? "You?"  
  


Stiles tilts his head while making a face. “Eh. Been better that’s for sure.” Is that guilt or hurt that flashes over Derek’s face. Crap. “I mean. It’s been hard but I’m doing fine. I miss him, or you I guess, or him because you both were different guys, but that’s not important because I’m dealing you know? I’m getting there.”  
  


Yep that’s hurt alright. When Derek looks away, sending off ‘I’m very uncomfortable with this entire conversation’ vibes that make Stiles want to wring his own stupid neck. What kind of a moron was he anyways? A heartless moron to boot! He ought to just rub wolfsbane laced salt into Derek’s metaphorical wounds at this rate.  
  


"Anyways!" Stiles rushes on, "I was wondering if you wanna go out to the movies. With me."  
  


Confused green-hazel eyes meet his. “Movies?” Derek repeats dubiously.  
  


Nodding eagerly, Stiles explains, “They’re doing this Star Wars special, a back-to-back viewing of episodes 4 to 6 and I… thought you might… you know.”   
  


Derek looks more confused than before when he asks, slowly like he’s trying to process his own words. “You. Want to go to the movies. With me.”  
  


"On a date." Stiles clarifies, feeling his cheeks heat up now that he’s got Derek’s full attention. "Yeah."  
  


“ _Why_?”  
  


The completely bewildered tone takes part of Stiles’ nervousness away, replaces it with a wry kind of amusement that echoes the sentiment of ‘I know the feeling, dude’. “Well.” He begins, taking a big step forward (honestly it feels more like a leap of faith than just one step). “Someone told me that you really liked sci-fi and that Return of the Jedi was your favorite movie.”  
  


Derek's stricken look turns mildly embarrassed at Stiles' words, color flushing his cheeks. With a hopeful smile, Stiles finishes, “And I made a promise I mean to keep.”  
  


"What promise?" Derek asks immediately, eyes narrowing/  
  


His smile takes a secretive edge. “That’s between me and past you.” Stiles says.  
  


Derek stares at him, long, hard and contemplative. There nothing harsh in his gaze. Stiles is ready to go so far as to say it’s almost soft. Who’d have thought that the day would come when Derek Hale would look at Stiles like like he’s something Derek likes. It's a nice feeling. Stiles feels his heart skip a beat or two. “I’ll eventually drag it out of you.” Derek finally says and it sends a dart of happiness through his racing heart.  
  


Happiness fills him, causing his lips to go up, up, up until Stiles is sure his grin is maniacal. ‘Eventually’. That means all kinds of good things doesn’t it? That’s the way Stiles is choosing to take it. “Maybe.” He hedges, sticking his hands into his hoodie just to keep them from tangling in Derek’s wife beater and pulling him into a kiss. “Maybe not. You’ll have to work for it.”  
  


"Will I?" Derek murmurs. The low tone makes Stiles’ stomach flip and twist. He’s never heard Derek speak in that tone before. "You're gonna make me work for it?"  
  


Licking his dry lips, Stiles tries to calm his racing heart while trying his best to play coy. “Yep. So. Movie?”  
  


Derek hesitates a moment before nodding. The smile he directs at Stiles is tiny but it’s pretty darn close to the smile younger Derek used to direct his way. And Stiles  _finally_  gets what Derek’s younger self had told him.  
  


That young boy is still in there, hiding behind a lot of scars and high walls but Stiles feels up to the challenge. “Saturday. I’ll text you the time.” Stiles says, beginning to walk back without breaking eye contact. “Don’t forget alright?”  
  


He flails slightly when the back of his feet hit the stairs, arms windmilling wildly. It’s a miracle he doesn’t fall on his ass. Stiles glares down at the steps before declaring, “Your loft is a health hazard. And I’m not just talking about the giant hole in the wall.”  
  


“ _You’re_  a health hazard.” Derek drawls, eyes shining with amusement.   
  


Stiles pretends to be insulted, huffs and stomps out the loft. “Saturday.” He reminds Derek because being thorough is a good thing. The werewolf rolls his eyes, body screaming ‘I get it already!’. Grinning, Stiles walks down the hallway, waits until he’s at the elevator before pumping both fists in the air.


End file.
